


Act of Affiliation

by babbling_bug, ohmeohmy



Series: robot jesus and the average medic [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_bug/pseuds/babbling_bug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmeohmy/pseuds/ohmeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambulon's defection from the Decepticons isn't as clean as he'd like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyemeohmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/gifts).



Simanzi was a mess, and he'd shot his commanding officer in the face.

It was unlikely that the city would be habitable ever again, what with The Crucible almost reaching critical mass and nearly blowing everyone and their T-Cog to space dust. Ambulon...  _almost_  regretted that it hadn't. It would have solved some rather pressing problems.

Such as the fact that he had  _shot his commanding officer in the face_ , fled the scene of the crime, tried to get behind enemy lines with intent to fake his status as a Neutral, and was now stuck in a small pocket of space created by the debris that was once Simanzi- awaiting rescue by _Autobots_.

They were not looking for him, of course. Ambulon doubted anyone even knew his name outside of the small Decepticon science facility he was forced to spend his time at. No, they would be looking for their damn heroic leader; currently unconscious, and sharing rather snug accommodations with Ambulon under a pile of rubble. Which he had helped create by knocking The Crucible out of alignment.

He wouldn't deny that the action had given him the perfect opportunity to escape, but his half-formed plan of disguising himself as a Neutral and getting off Cybertron once and for all was no longer any good. Mostly due to the fact that Optimus fracking Prime himself had taken it as it being his business to save Ambulon from becoming abstract street art.

Once the Autobots dug them out (and they  _would_  soon enough- it seemed they were determined to keep this Prime alive), there would be questions. And though he had discarded his badge somewhere in the chaos between committing high treason the first time, and then again not too long after, there was no way he could lie well enough to make anyone believe he was a Neutral.

He should have shot the Autobot Leader as soon as it became clear they were stuck and that the Prime was completely out of it. That, at least, would mean that Autobot High Command would want a military tribunal for the murder of the Prime. Lord Megatron wasn't known for being sentimental, but it was highly likely that he wouldn't allow that to stand (if only because he would want to kill Ambulon personally...), but nonetheless, that would have provided him some room to manoeuvre.

The only thing was... he didn't quite feel like shooting the Prime. Yes, it was technically treason not to shoot the Prime when you had the chance, but there weren't many Decepticons brave enough to actually _try_. The mech had once damn near cleaved Megatron in two, for crying out loud!  _What if he woke up just as he lined up the shot?_

Suffering multiple blaster wounds, energon burns, and a severe case of...  _unconsciousness_  were no guarantee that the Autobot would actually stay down! From the stories Decepticons liked to tell when they got into the High Grade, or the really good pain killers, it had never stopped him before.

And besides that- the Prime had saved his life not even three breems before. That sort of treachery just didn't mesh well with Ambulon (he'd shot his commanding officer in the  _face_ \- if the idiot didn't want to get shot there, he should have damn well moved, or not been so damn insufferable. Either, or).

There was also the fact that the fool was already bleeding out. Inevitably, in the course of rescuing Ambulon, or maybe before that, he'd gone and torn or ruptured something important. Secondary Energon tank, by the looks of it. Secondary and tertiary Energon feed lines, most likely. Some electrical relay cables too, just for fun. Oh, and not forgetting the reasonably sized shard of metal sticking out of his shoulder joint.

From what he could see, that thing had become essential in preserving the structural integrity of their little shelter when the Prime had fallen offline.

Ambulon snorted bitterly. He may as well have stayed with the Decepticon contingent in Simanzi and awaited his punishment. For insubordination, or murder of a superior officer... who even cared any more.

He had wanted to make a nice clean break from Cybertron- fake his death, ship himself far, far away, perhaps to a location that didn't aggravate his paintjob so severely...

He clenched his fists as he watched the Prime's chest armour decompress with every vent. Soon, his atmospheric converters would become flooded, and then his spark would start to seize...

Perhaps the Matrix would save him from that...

Ambulon watched, counting down the astroseconds to critical system failure.

...  _or perhaps Ambulon would do something about it_ , he thought to himself, realising his mind was made up.

Crawling out of his little corner, wary of all the minute creaks their makeshift shelter made as he moved; he supposed that three was a good, round number of treasonous actions to commit in just under a joor. If anyone remembered his name, he might even pass on to Decepticon urban legend.

Retrieving his tools from his sub-space, Ambulon distantly acknowledged that it didn't matter anymore as he started cataloguing the Prime's injuries. There were more than he had initially thought, though none were as severe as those he'd identified from a distance- good armour paid off, apparently.

His first priority would be the Energon lines, he thought, sorting through his thoughts; then the ruptured tank, the atmospheric converters could be drained later- they would need to be flushed and recalibrated either way. The metal shard... he would have to stop any Energon leaks around it, that was a given, but he would not dare try to remove it. He’d been called a pessimist more than once in his functioning, but he quite enjoyed being alive (if not all that it entailed).

It’s not until his fingers are buried in the gaps of the Prime’s armour, trying to figure out the mechanism to prise it open to get at the ruptured fuel tank, that the Autobot shows any sign of life- the fingers of his left hand twitch slightly, setting Ambulon on edge. Even with one arm free, Optimus Prime could kill him with little effort if he woke in a panic. In a medbay, risky patients would simply be strapped down, but that wasn’t an option here (and even if it were, it was highly unlikely to actually be effective).

(Ambulon never imagined he would lament not carrying sedatives in his med-pack.)

He watches the fingers make abortive movements for a few precious seconds, but eventually decides that he doesn’t have time to waste contemplating whether those fingers would fit the whole way around his neck when the Prime’s internal fluids are beginning to puddle underneath him. Soon after, he manages to make a side panel slide away from the Prime’s torso and he immerses himself in tugging out the torn and ragged lines and patching them with quick, precise movements.

So when his impromptu patient starts speaking, he can’t afford to flinch and back away- there’s nowhere for him to go, and he’d only ruin his own hard work.

“You... are not one of mine,” the Autobot Leader says, voice heavy and laboured, but still possessing a powerful quality. Ambulon has heard Lord Megatron orate to the masses, but even half dead, the weight behind the Prime’s voice is something else.

Swallowing back the habitual fear of being so close to what had not a day past been an enemy, Ambulon meets the Prime’s optics momentarily. One of them is cracked, but the light in them is strong and unwavering; perhaps he had not been so close to death, after all.

“No. I’m not,” he answers simply, studying what little of the Prime’s armour he has managed to open. “I need you to open your abdominal armour.”

When he receives no reply, he thinks that perhaps the Autobot has fallen unconscious again, but when Ambulon looks up, the Prime is still staring straight at him, silent.

“Unless you would prefer to bleed out.”

A pause.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” he deadpans, tapping at the section of armour he had managed to pry open by himself.

The Autobot Leader huffs slightly, and then piece by piece, retracts his abdominal armour. It’s a mess underneath, but the movement makes Ambulon squint suspiciously.

“How long have you been awake?”

The Prime’s optics shine almost playfully, and he can imagine that he’s smiling behind the mask.

 “Long enough.”

Shaking his head, Ambulon gets back to work, hoping to retreat into his corner as soon as possible. But the Prime seems to have had a change of Spark, and is now intent on making conversation.

“Would you care to tell me what you were doing heading towards my soldiers?”

“I was leaving Simanzi,” he tries not to encourage the topic, using short words and terse, clipped tones. That usually shut up even the most talkative patients.

“You are not a Neutral,” the Prime states, not even slightly unsure of himself.

“I... resigned.”

“... Resigned.” And though he sounds disbelieving, the Prime doesn’t speak again.

But short as their exchange had been, now Ambulon finds the silence more uncomfortable.

“Why did you push me out of the way?” Because he has to know, nobody just does that-

“I thought you had a bomb.” Oh.

“Oh.”

He turns that thought over in his head before he snaps to attention with a jolt.

“I’m not a K-Con!” he snaps, thoroughly offended.

“If they catch you, you will be,” the Prime replies seriously.

And that gives him pause. Because he had never considered a scenario where that would happen. Gruelling torture and punishment, a death squad, probably... but _that_.

He hadn’t considered that at all.

For a moment, he thinks he can feel his hands shake but the Prime speaks again before he can acknowledge the thought.

“Why did you choose to save me?”

Ambulon doesn’t look at the Autobot. Why had he? There was no reason. He didn’t know.

“You were bleeding out. You were going to die.” He says bluntly, going back to work.

“So? Surely that wouldn’t matter to you?” There are a thousand meanings behind the Prime’s words. None of them should matter.

“It didn’t,” he says tartly. “It was just a little bit of treason.”

To his surprise, the Autobot Leader laughs- wheezing and difficult as it must be for him. “Just a little bit.”

Ambulon is content to let the conversation die there.

“What did you plan on doing if you’d made it past Autobot lines?”

“I have ID as a Neutral.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.” The Prime replies, and he suddenly sounds tired. (And that is odd, his voice was so strong not a second before, what happened, has Ambulon done something wrong, is something else failing, something he didn’t see.)

“I won’t be able to stay awake much longer, but my Autobots will find us soon. Look at me, please.”

It’s nothing at all like an order, but he can’t imagine disobeying at the moment.

“My name is Optimus Prime, I hold the Matrix of Leadership, and it is my duty to protect the people of Cybertron from tyranny.” He looks at Ambulon pointedly. “What is your name, my friend?”

“I’m Ambulon. I’m... just a medic,” he replies, feeling numb as the Prime lifts his now Energon soaked hand to Ambulon’s chest, smudging out a design.

“Good luck,” Optimus Prime says, a hint of humour in his voice as he promptly falls unconscious again.

Looking from the Autobot symbol scrawled onto his chest and back to the unconscious Prime, he thinks that he can hear his logic circuits going on the fritz- or maybe that’s the sound of the promised rescue party... Ambulon can’t quite tell.

There’s only one thing he can think to say.

“Thanks?”


	2. First Responders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no way he was going to make it out of this alive. Maybe.

It's not too long after Optimus Prime loses consciousness again that the sounds from outside their shelter grow louder, a small spot of light appearing near the top of the shard of metal stabbing into the Prime's shoulder.

"Status?" A green-helmed bot calls down, blocking out the light again.

"Injured. Severe to critical," he replies by habit, and the 'Bot disappears again, a string of foul curses streaming in his wake as he shouts for the others to get a move on.

Ambulon carries on working, mostly ignoring the increasing volume of noise. Losing consciousness after a period of lucidity can mean any number of things in mechs that are in the Prime's current condition- most of them spell trouble.

"Hey! Hey you, look at me," another voice, also unfamiliar, but when he spares them a glance, he recognises the face from the dossiers the Decepticons kept on him: Ratchet (Autobot Chief Medical Officer. Valuable asset; CAPTURE ONLY).

"How much fluid is he leaking?" 

Ambulon assesses the damage.

"There's about 60 litres here, probably more trapped under his armour."

Ratchet swears just as vigorously as the mech from earlier.

"Can you see any of his fuel lines? Can you tie them off?"

"Yes, I've patched them up. The problem is likely his fuel tank- multiple ruptures, but I can only see the one and I can't move him." A pause, and then more swearing.

"Keep doing what you're doing, we'll get you out in a klik," and then he turns away, already shouting at the others. "You hear that you useless, slower than slag garbage compactors? I want him out in. A. _Klik_!"

Ambulon pays the shouting no mind- the foul attitude had also been included in the dossiers.

But foul or not, the Autobot Medic seemed to have put a scare on the others as the debris blocking out the light had been cleared away in short order, and before the designated klik was up, Ratchet and a large, predominantly red mech holding a pistol were sliding down towards the tight space where Ambulon was still working away at top speed.

"Sitrep," Ratchet snaps; the voice of all Chief Medical Officers, everywhere.

"Multiple ruptures to the secondary fuel tank, one confirmed and patched. Tears in secondary and tertiary Energon lines- 80% patched, but spillage is starting to affect his synapse system. Atmospheric converters are flooded and need to be shut off. The problem is the shoulder." He gestures to the shard, finally looking up from his work. As the Autobot CMO, the repairs would have to continue at Ratchet's discretion now.

While he had been talking, Ratchet had established a hard-line connection to the Prime, likely using his medical overrides to get a more complete assessment of the damage and also to shut off any non-essential systems and Energon lines. After a few slow astroseconds, the noise of the other Autobots working to clear away more debris only a distant distraction, Ratchet nods and disconnects.

"We need to get that thing out of his shoulder before we can do anything else," he says, looking at the Autobot who had come down with him.

"Say no more, doc," the bot nods, finally putting away his pistol and turning an assessing gaze up the length of the piece of metal.

"Springer!" He shouts up, "Everything secure up there? This chunk of metal needs to go!"

"Hold on!" The increasingly harried green-helmed bot answers, disappearing over the ledge. The sound of several rotaries lifting off nearby filled the air.

Once they were hovering over their position, multiple chains descended and Ratchet's escort busied himself with securing the metal shard.

"Get ready; once that thing's clear we need to patch any lines that have been torn before he bleeds out even more. Then you need to help me roll him over." Ratchet stated, assuming complete compliance from Ambulon.

As if on cue, the rotaries started ascending higher, the metal shard quivering slightly before it slowly started moving, the red Autobot gently guiding its way out of the Prime's shoulder joint.

The Autobot CMO hunched forward, watching the extraction intently while his fingers flexed, looking not unlike a sharkticon waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Following his lead, Ambulon took up a similar position opposite him, trying hard not to contemplate what exactly would happen to him if something went wrong in the next couple of kliks; anxiety ratcheting up as the shard was finally pulled free with a whispering susurrus that grated against all of his sensors.

Then there was no time to think about anything else as the Autobot medic fell on his patient, hands moving with a speed that Ambulon couldn't hope to match or admire when under so much pressure. He simply focused his optics and worked as quickly as he could. Moving in tandem with Ratchet, he secured the half patches the Autobot made so he was free to move on to the next, faster and faster and faster until he deemed himself finished and Ambulon was left to catch up, hyper aware of the CMO drumming his stained fingers while he waited.

"You got all of them?" Ratchet asks shortly when Ambulon finally leans back after what feels like half an eternity.

He can't speak, glossa heavy and dry behind his dental plates, so he nods with optics fixed on his work. He doesn't have much of a professional reputation, but before this he'd always been reasonably assured of his skills. They'd always been good enough for the Decepticons under his care.

Decepticons... but perhaps not Autobots. Not when a mech like Ratchet tended them on the regular. He can't help but suddenly be aware of the great gulf of experience and talent between himself and the mech opposite him, cold fingers of doubt sinking their claws into his cranium, making him question the integrity of his repairs.

Because if the Prime dies because he didn't diagnose him properly, didn't repair him sufficiently... if the Prime dies because of him while he's surrounded-

" _Hey_! Pay attention!" Fingers snap in front of his optics, flecking his face with drops of processed Energon and mechblood.

His head finally snaps up and he's faced with Ratchet's surly glare, mouth twisted with disdain, and he freezes for a split second before registering that the big red Autobot has crossed over from behind the Prime's head to crouch by his legs, already preparing to manoeuvre the larger bot into the recovery position. They're both waiting on him. 

"Concentrate! We're going to roll him over, so any lines pinched closed by his weight will be free-flowing again. Keep your hands steady, and on _three_ -" 

Pushing away his momentary panic, Ambulon scrambles to get his hands as far underneath the Prime as he can while the CMO counts down to zero, lifting with his forearms as Ratchet pulls their patient up and toward himself. 

The next two breems are a blur that Ambulon's processor doesn't bother to fully commit to his memory banks; retaining only a vague sense of sharp instructions and the distant, incoherent sound of someone far above them shouting to be heard over whirling rotor blades. His perception sharpens again while securing the Prime's legs to the stretcher that had been lowered for them at some point during their mad scramble to patch the mess of tubes they'd found under shattered shoulder plating. 

He makes quick work of it, only faintly registering that he's covered in assorted mechfluids past his elbow joints, and then moves to check the patches on the Prime's shoulder but the Autobot medic waves him away. He steps back, trying not to be offended. 

"I already checked those," Ratchet says, his tone registering as less scathing by several degrees as he and the red Autobot fussed with the harness that would tether the CMO to the air-lift apparatus. 

At a loss, he stands awkwardly to the side, watching as above them mechs lined up at the edge of the pit they'd uncovered to retrieve their Prime, weapons powered up and ready to shoot down any enemy stragglers that might take advantage of their leader's vulnerable state. 

Ambulon repressed the urge to laugh hysterically. He was _so_ f- 

"Hey. What's your name? Where were you trained?" Turning his attention back to the Autobots closest to him, he saw that Ratchet had finally been secured to the stretcher and that they were ready to air-lift the Prime to safety. 

"Ambulon. And I was purpose-built," he answers, holding Ratchet's gaze. 

The Autobot nods, "Ambulon. You did good work down here. Thank you." 

And then he's gone over the edge of the pit and out of Ambulon's sight, but he has no time to think about the compliment before the medic's escort pushes at his shoulder. 

"Move. They're not liftin' us outta here. Start climbin', I'll spot you." 

Ambulon doesn't turn around to check if that statement was said with a gun in hand. He goes. 

The green mech that had been identified as Springer met him when his head cleared the top and lifted him easily out of the trench the rescue party had turned their temporary shelter into, setting him down a ways away before turning back to help the red mech coming up behind him. Slightly miffed at the handling, he startles when Ratchet's escort flanks him and resets his vocaliser with a grunt. The mech looks over Ambulon critically, optics settling on the drying Energon smudge on his chest that just so happens to also be an Autobot symbol. 

"Typical," he snorts (and Ambulon finally recognises him now- Ironhide, Autobot Munitions Expert. Extremely dangerous; DO NOT ENGAGE), and studies Ambulon again. 

"You're a Neutral?" He asks very pointedly, making it quite clear that he will not believe him in the slightest if he answers in the affirmative. 

Ambulon looks around at the ruins of the city. There's really nothing left of it, even 'a complete wreck' would be too generous a description. There are rescue parties dotted around everywhere, and in the centre of it all, Ratchet is still barking orders at anyone who will listen as Optimus Prime is loaded up into the back of a trailer. 

"Actually... I was thinking of enlisting." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAYYYYY, THREE YEARS LATER AND I'M BACK TO WRITING.
> 
> I apologise in advance.
> 
> As always, this is for eyemeohmy, who is holding me hostage with this concept please send hel-

**Author's Note:**

> eyemeohmy prompted: WRITE ME OPTIMUS/AMBULON BABS COME ON.
> 
> Now OP/Ambulon has become a thing that I write on the regular.
> 
> I don't know what to call the series, so for now it's keeping the name I gave it on LJ.


End file.
